by Nicole Fox
Although he was leader of the Satan’s Chaos Motorcycle Club, he knew he would have to leave his people without a leader for the time being. At least until I figure out a way out of this.
Soon the sirens faded off into the distance, and Logan breathed a little easier. Getting out of the dirt, he found a new road to travel. He slipped out of the grass and back on a highway, heading west. Not knowing where he was going, Logan set a cruising speed right at the speed limit, unwilling to risk any brush with the law.
Because Logan knew they would soon be looking for him.
# # #
Francesca
Francesca stared down the burning pyre of her ex’s things, her eyes streaming tears.
Cheating asshole deserves to be set on fire along with his stuff. Along with the woman who I thought was my best friend.
Now, Francesca was entirely without friends. She felt a bit like she was lost out at sea in a storm. A lump formed in her throat as she glanced down at her cell phone, lit up with several messages both from Davis and Nikki. She didn’t want to look at either right now, though she had an idea what they had both had to say.
Davis is already angry that I took his prized Rolls and wants to know where it is; Nikki is apologizing to me for the 400th time, stupid ex-best-friend bitch. “I didn’t mean it, I never should have touched him, blah blah blah.”
“Fuck you both!” she screamed, throwing Davis’s keys into the firestorm before her. She thought that setting the whole thing ablaze would make her feel better, but instead Francesca just felt worse, emptier. Mindlessly tossing her beautiful, long locks of blonde waves to one side, she turned away from the blaze, feeling the heat of it press up against her back.
I should have saved this for the cameras. But instead her anger had driven her out into the middle of nowhere, her heels sinking into the loosely packed sands to try and burn away her own pain. The TV producers would have loved the ratings from this kind of scandal.
But Francesca didn’t want this on TV. Maybe we can recreate the scene later if my reality show can afford another Rolls.
More than anything, she wished she’d never walked in on her boyfriend and her best friend; she couldn’t get the image of them fucking in Davis’s bed out of her mind. She wished she hadn’t screamed so loudly. She wished she hadn’t confided in her brother, Marston. His words still burned like fire under skin.
“You’ll be crawling back to Davis in no time, little sis,” he said, his stupid face smiling with wicked thoughts. “Davis has you around his little finger, like a ring.”
Punching him in his broad chest, Francesca shook her head. “No, I will not. That prick is nothing to me.”
Marston didn’t even move an inch when she hit him. “Half a mill says you’ll be licking his boots before this is all over.”
Shaking with anger Francesca jammed a finger into his chest so hard, Marston actually winced. “Half a mill that asshole will come crawling back to me first.”
Burying her face in her hands, Francesca felt her heart shattering, breaking into a thousand pieces. She couldn’t swallow around the tears, couldn’t breathe. Everything seemed to have gone up in flames along with the Rolls, including her ability to think clearly.
I can’t believe I made that bet with Marston. But of all my regrets, she thought, warily looking up from her manicured hands, the worst is that I have no way home. I would normally call Nikki, but… That thought squeezed her heart, pain lancing through her whole body.
Tears slipped through her mascara, painting lines of despair down her perfect skin. She stood there and cried for a long time, her feet throbbing and her heart hurting. The only sound out there in the desert was her wracking sobs in the cold, night air.
Until another noise joined it. The low rumble sounded like nothing familiar, and Francesca looked up from her tears to see what had interrupted her grief. A light came quickly around the bend, the thrumming sound resolving into the purr of the engine. Hurrying to the road, still sobbing, Francesca leaned over the asphalt with her thumb out, hoping to attract the attention of whoever was out this late on this road in the middle of nowhere.
Much to her delight, the motorcycle pulled off the road. Francesca backed up, hoping to keep the worst of the desert dust off of her white Dior pencil skirt.
Walking toward the vehicle, Francesca called to the rider as soon as he turned off the engine. “Hey, can I get a ride? I’ll give you a hundred bucks.” The rider turned to her, and Francesca almost fainted at her good fortune.
The rider got off of the bike, his tall, muscular body moving like a hunter’s. His brunette buzzcut matched the beautiful hot chocolate color of his eyes. Everything about him, from the sun-kissed tan of his skin to the black lines of his tattoos peeking out from the edges of his t-shirt set Francesca’s body aflame. His deep-set eyes watched her, his expressive mouth looked very happy to see her. Francesca’s eyes traveled up and down his body for a second, and she had to close her mouth to keep from drooling.
Lucky for her, Motorcycle Man was hot.
Chapter Two
Logan
Logan ran his eyes over the pretty little blonde thing he’d found in the desert, a smile cutting across his chiseled face. He could see the story here, as plain as if she’d written it out for him. The flaming car, the mascara streaks down her perfect cheeks, and the vixen out in the middle of the desert with no one around to come pick her up.
This looks like a scene from a movie; it can’t be real. The cheating lover who drove this beautiful woman must have been blind; never in his life had Logan ever seen anyone so perfect. What idiot would cheat on a beautiful thing like this?
“Did you hear me?” the woman said, her perfectly sculpted brows furrowing in confusion. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you take me home. I’ll even buy you dinner,” she finished, desperately. Wincing, she even added “Please,” after a long moment of silence between them.
Logan had a feeling she didn’t often use the word “please.” Perhaps her being a brat is why she was cheated on. He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. Days into his journey, Logan was short on cash and dangerously low on gasoline. He wasn’t sure how far San Diego was from here, but he was pretty sure he couldn’t get there on the fumes currently in his gas tank.
At the talk of dinner, his stomach grumbled loudly. I also won’t make it there on the nothing left in my stomach.
Without the aide of his credit cards, Logan had no money left. And the police would find him in seconds if he attempted to use any of his cards now. They would be looking for him after what Zook had done, after what he’d framed him for.
“Guess I don’t have much of a choice.”
“Fine, but I need gasoline; how far is your house?” he growled, his fingers running through his short, black hair.
Those pretty brows knitted together. “Ten minutes maybe?” she said, sounding unsure. “There’s a gas station on the way home, though. We can stop and fill up your ride.”
“Alright then, come on.” Logan had a feeling he would come to regret helping this spoiled valley brat, that somehow she would get him caught. But he had no choice. He needed the money so desperately, he knew he had to play along. Hopefully, he would be able to leave before this woman figured anything out about his past.
Hopefully, the gas in my bike is enough to get us to the station. He got astride his bike, turning the engine on. It came rumbling to life, the vibrations soothing some of the aches in his saddle-sore legs. Three days since I left. Three days of straight riding on back roads. I need some real sleep.
Rubbing at his eyes, Logan looked back at the woman. She looked down at the bike with too-wide eyes, then back up at him. She seemed to come to some agreement with herself, gathered up her courage, then hesitantly got on the back of the bike. Her hands wrapped tentatively around his stomach, holding on very lightly like he might break.
Smiling wickedly, Logan pulled away from the desert sand, rocketing forward. With a cry, the pr
etty girl locked her hands around his waist, her hands clutching him in fear. He laughed, but the sound was lost in the rumble of his thundering engine.
# # #
Francesca
“Amazing,” Francesca whispered as they stepped off of the bike. Never in her life had she ever felt such exhilaration. There was something beautiful about the open road on a bike. The purr of the engine between her legs, the feel of the wind through her hair. It was like driving one of the convertibles, but even more freeing and wild. “Perhaps I’ll have to buy myself a bike and find someone to teach me to ride it.”
But that would never be able to recreate this first time; something about wrapping her arms around sexy biker man’s body made this trip a thousand times better. She could still remember the thrill of running her fingers over his muscled stomach, of having the heat of his body seeping into hers through their clothing. Just thinking about it was enough to light a fire in her belly.
She ran her manicured fingernails through her white-blonde hair, trying to get out the worst of the tangles and put her hair back into some sort of order.
He looked up at Francesca’s house with wonder, his eyes widening. “Do you work here or something?”
“Ew, no,” she said, snorting indelicately. “This is my house. Well, it’s my main house, anyway.”
Turning back to her, the biker looked her over, his eyes filled with a newfound respect. “I see.” He shut his mouth around any other comments he seemed to want to make, swallowing them down. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like the rest of the money you promised so I can get back on the road.”
“Sure thing; we’ll have to go inside so I can grab the rest of my cash. Why don’t you join me for a drink?”
He frowned but followed without a word. Francesca was intrigued. Is this whole tough man thing an act, or is he really like some kind of hardcore biker gang guy? A thrill of mixed fear and excitement shivered over her skin at the thought. She wanted to ask him about his past, but he didn’t seem the type to divulge secrets to anyone, much less a stranger he just met on the road a half an hour ago.
She took a deep breath, opening her mouth to ask a question when her phone rang, interrupting her. Francesca answered it without thinking. Wincing, Francesca prayed it wasn’t Davis. She couldn’t stand the thought of hearing her ex’s voice right now.
“Oh my God, Francesca. Don’t hang up.” It was Nikki. The second worst person in the world.
“You calling to push the knife in a little harder?” Francesca asked, her voice like ice. “Or are you calling for something work related?”
“He didn’t tell me,” Nikki said, tears in her voice. “I didn’t know it was Davis; you know we’d never met before. He didn’t even tell me he had a girlfriend.” Her best friend’s voice sounded lost, desperate. “He even gave me a fake fucking name, brought me to his house. He didn’t even know you and I knew each other.”
For a long time, Francesca sat in silence, tears slipping down her cheeks. She kept swallowing, but the tears seemed to block her throat. Davis is even more of an asshole than I ever suspected. I hope he rots in hell. How many other girls has he tricked with a false name?
Taking a deep breath, she finally said, “Okay, Nikki. I believe you. But I also don’t want to talk to you right now. Okay?”
“Okay,” she answered, sounding tentatively happier. “Will I see you at work tomorrow?”
“No,” Francesca answered, tears in her eyes as she hung up the phone without saying goodbye. She turned to her visitor, who had listened to the whole conversation without a speck of emotion on his beautiful face. “How about that drink?”
Chapter Three
Logan
The bombshell was crying again, but whatever conversation she’d had on the phone seemed to make her feel a little better. Her heart still seemed to be breaking, and that made Logan wanted to break whoever did this to her in half. He wasn’t sure what it was about this woman that made him so protective of her, but he winced away from analyzing that too hard.
“Perhaps it’s because she is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Logan frowned at that thought. “It doesn’t matter how hot she is, though. I need to get out of here. I need that cash so I can get the hell out of this country.”
San Diego was his only way out. My buddy Benny will help me out. I can’t trust anyone else. There was no way that Zook could have gotten to Benny; Logan was pretty sure his backstabbing second-in-command didn’t even know Benny existed.
“I’m pretty sure Benny still runs people without papers back and forth over the Mexican border. All I got to do is find a little something to pay him with.”
The money from his new benefactor would certainly help, and a few choice items swiped from her house would fill in the rest. All Logan had to do was steal them and get out of here.
“What is your name?” the woman asked as she poured a couple of shots of whiskey over clear ice balls. Sliding one across the counter to him, she lifted her own glass to her lips, taking a deep inhale.
There was a slowness to her drinking that suggested the spirit was expensive and meant to be sipped, so Logan copied her movements. He nearly groaned at the pleasure of the first sip; he’d never tasted anything like it in his life. “Logan,” he answered without thinking. “It would have been better to think up a fake name, you fool. Think up a fake last name, at least, you idiot.
“Logan - Jones.”
“Well, Mr. Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the beautiful lady gently knocked her glass against his and took another slow sip. Despite the mascara still running down her face and legs covered up to her knees in desert dust, she looked at home here in the pretty, rich place. She casually knocked dirt onto the floor, suggesting she’d never cleaned her own floor in her life. “I’ve never met anyone this rich before; I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live like this.” But someone like Logan didn’t belong in this lady’s world, even for a single evening.
“And your name?” Logan asked, frowning. “Don’t I get to know yours?”
The dark lines of her eyebrows flew up into her hairline. “You don’t know me?”
“Should I?” he growled, tired of this game already.
After a long moment of silence, the woman’s face changed. All of the incredulity faded from her features and a kind of calm spread relaxed all of the muscles in her face. “My name is Francesca,” she whispered, without any kind of explanation. After a long moment, her features took on a new expression. “I want you to sleep here.”
Logan nearly spit his whiskey out onto the counter. “You what?”
Eyes as hard as diamonds, Francesca looked down at her hands on the counter. “In the guest room. You can sleep here. You don’t look like you’ve slept in a while. And you were- I mean, you helped me out.” Silent for a long time, Francesca seemed to shrink as he watched, like the pressure of the situation she found herself in was crumbling her bones. “If you want to stay, I am offering you a room.”
“Thank you,” he said, noncommittally.
“I’m going to go bathe, okay? Just don’t go anywhere until I get back. Think it over.”
And she disappeared, vanishing into the depths of this massive house like she’d never existed. A quiet descended on the place so thick, Logan was convinced he was now alone. Curiosity drove him up out of his seat and across the floor.
The living room was a combination of old-fashioned, oversized furniture and expensive electronics, all laying around haphazardly. “To a woman with this much money, I bet she won’t even miss whatever I take.”
But something else drove him up the plush white carpet of the stairs to the second floor. At the top of the stairs was a bathroom, but the lights were off and the room empty. She must have another up here, then. He prowled around each of the rooms, shocked at the sheer amount of beautiful, expensive things that filled this place. He itched to take something, claim it for his own, before leaving this massive house. But more than that, he want
ed a peek of the only thing in this house that he couldn’t touch.
He wanted a peek at her.
# # #
Francesca
Francesca sunk into her bubble bath, feeling all of the tenseness from her very long day start to dissolve into the warm embrace of the water. The bubbles popped and swirled around her, filling the room with the calming scent of lavender. There is not a day so bad that it can’t be improved with a bubble bath. Francesca frowned down at the bubbles. “Even if that improvement involves drowning yourself.”
But Davis wasn’t worth drowning herself over. Davis wasn’t worth even a second of remorse. “I don’t need him. Even if the reality show was looking forward to him being part of next season, I can create drama without him.
